


The Busiest Rapid Transit System

by goldenraeofsun



Series: The Greatest City in the World [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: Times Square was god awful on its best day, but at least Steve could strategize to avoid the worst of it.That was, until Steve's morning commute acquired a strikingly handsome new commuter.He didn’t make a habit of schmoozing with NYC-based celebrities, save his boss, but Steve wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him this man was featured on a magazine centerfold somewhere.





	The Busiest Rapid Transit System

Steve had his morning commute down to a science – a necessary evil of working in Midtown, which combined the worst New York City had to offer: rush hour crowds, tourists, and Times Square.

Like any sensible New Yorker, Steve had his preferred car – the very head of the train. The first pair of doors opened directly next to the stairs that led to the 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue exit, so If Steve was quick on his feet, he could get out ahead of the hoards.

He was still perfectly polite – he didn’t man-spread; he gave up his seat for the elderly and pregnant; he took his bag off his shoulder to make room for when someone needed to squeeze into the car. But he wasn’t above lightly shoving past oblivious people standing in the middle of the car or platform in one of the busiest subway stations in New York.

Times Square was god awful on its best day, but at least Steve could strategize to avoid the worst of it.

That was, he _could_ strategize until his morning commute acquired a new commuter. A strikingly handsome one.

Half-hidden behind a man carrying a shiba inu in an Ikea bag, Steve shamelessly did a double take at the sight of the hot commuter. In fact, he continued to sneak furtive looks all the way to his second-to-last stop, the second circle of hell, 34th Street-Penn Station. Normally, Steve would have shuffled closer to the exit to prepare for Times Square. But today, at that exact moment before doors opened, Hot Commuter reached up to swipe a couple stray hairs and glanced around, briefly meeting Steve’s gaze. Hopelessly distracted, Steve missed his chance for an easy out at Times Square and was instead shoved further into the car.

Steve didn’t make a habit of schmoozing with NYC-based celebrities, save his boss, but Steve wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him this man was featured on a magazine centerfold somewhere.

When the doors finally opened an eternity later, Steve found himself stuck behind a family of tourists. 

Hot Commuter’s arresting good-looks hadn’t abated the slightest the next day. His shoulder-length dark brown hair was still just as shiny, his jawline still just as sharp, his blue eyes still just as breathtaking. As train stopped at Penn, Hot Commuter quickly let go of the subway pole and shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing tanned forearms barely hidden by rolled up sleeves of a button down.

The train started up again, and Steve found himself sandwiched in the middle of the car. At least his view had improved: only three or four passengers stood between himself and Hot Commuter now. Steve watched, transfixed, as Hot Commuter wrapped his hand around the subway pole, his biceps flexing and relaxing and flexing again as the car rattled back and forth along the tracks on the way to Times Square.

Steve almost missed his stop. Muttering swears and apologies, he shoved through the incoming throng of Times Square tourists meandering onto the train.

On Monday, after an entire week of agonizing and enticing Steve in equal measure – the man answered his phone after stepping onto the train at Clark Street with a sharp, “Barnes.”

Luckily, the rush hour crowd inside the subway car was too packed for Steve to swoon properly at the sound of his voice for the first time.

* * *

Steve stepped onto the train, breathing a small sigh of relief as he shuffled to a free seat in the middle of the car. He set his bag down on his lap and pulled his legs closer together, wincing as his right knee throbbed. It had gotten better since he limped back to his apartment the night before, but it still wasn’t anywhere near 100%. He rubbed his knee thoroughly, trying to identify pain points to look up later.

He was so caught up in determining if he needed Sarah Rogers emergency consult that he didn’t notice much of his surroundings. When someone jostled his shoulder taking a seat, Steve obligingly gathered his bag closer to his chest, out of his neighbor’s personal space.

His mouth fell open as Barnes settled in and pulled out a thick paperback.

Knee problems completely forgotten, Steve didn’t dare turn his head to sneak another glance in case he got caught staring. Instead, he clasped his hands tightly in his lap, tentatively loosening the rigid set of his shoulder so that his arm could barely brushed against the sleeve of the Barnes’ leather jacket.

Barnes' hair looked so soft from this close up.

Steve avoided making eye contact with anyone on the train, in case they could sense his thoughts by the sheer psychic force of his massive infatuation with a stranger. He skimmed Barnes’ reading material instead, puzzling over the Cyrillic on the front cover.

Maybe Barnes was a professor of Russian literature or history at Columbia, the kind that all of his students had crushes on.

Maybe Barnes was a Russian model waiting for his big break in America.

Maybe he was the Russian mob’s most adept hitman, come to America for his first overseas assignment for the Bratva.

The train took off again, jerking Steve out of fantasies more suited to a lurid romance novel than a crowded New York City subway car. In front of him, a harried-looking babysitter clutched the hand of a young kid wearing a button up with the collar half-popped and sporting a riot of brown curls. Steve gathered the straps of his bag in his hands, fully prepared to give up his seat.

But he froze as Barnes tapped the woman on the arm of her coat and asked in a low voice. “Would you like to sit?”

The woman blinked at him, clearly as taken aback as Steve had been with the full view of Barnes’ face.

Without waiting for an answer, Barnes got up and awkwardly shuffled to the side.

The woman gave her head a little shake and ushered her charge onto the vacated seat. “Go on, Pete.”

“Look, Aunt May!” Pete exclaimed as he clambered up the scratched orange seat to peer out at the gritty darkness beyond. “Do you think that’s where the mole people are? Ned said so.” Pete, fascinated with the subway tunnel, didn’t see May roll her eyes.

Steve did, though. He made eye contact and raised a hand to grasp the nearest pole as he got out of his seat. “Do you want to sit too?”

May chuckled exasperatedly as they switched positions. “Probably, then I can hold him down to keep him from just taking off. Everything’s so interesting at that age, I guess.” She grasped the strap of Pete’s backpack in a white-knuckled grip.

The car lurched to a stop in the middle of the tunnel between stations, and Steve nearly crashed into Barnes. Over the automated announcement about train traffic ahead, Steve murmured an apology and gripped the pole a little more firmly.

“No problem,” Barnes said, and Steve nearly jumped at the sound. He whipped his head around, staring at Barnes, who was smiling slightly. “I wasn’t expecting that either.”

Steve gaped, staring deep into Barnes’s cool blue eyes as he tried to memorize their color in the least-creepy way possible.

“I think I saw one!” Pete exclaimed.

Barnes grinned and sent a quick glance out of the window instinctively. 

Moment broken, Steve ducked his head. His face felt like it was on fire.

* * *

The A train at three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday was a strange place. Steve, who had only ever rode the subway at ass o’clock in the morning on the weekends, was used to giggling coeds and weary night shift workers stumbling around to their seats. Maybe an occasional person begging for spare change.

Steve’s car tonight was nearly deserted, save the obligatory homeless person. Steve left him alone as he made his way to the other end of the car and deliberately averted his eyes. He couldn’t even smell him from here.

Steve clutched at Liho’s fancy cat carrier tighter as the train lurched away from the station. Staring blanking out the window scratched over with graffiti, he grimaced as the train conductor announced the next stop. Ten more to go before Steve could safely crash at Nat's place and let her demon cat loose.

He should have never agreed to pet-sit, but Nat had him twisted around her little finger. Now that Steve had a respectable job, she could finally make good on all her years-old threats if he didn’t do her the occasional favor.

Steve should have known that all the ramen and pizza money he borrowed off her that cold winter of senior year would bite him in the ass.

Just like Liho did before he vomited blood all over Nat's kitchen floor five hours and several heart attacks ago.

Steve had never been a cat owner, or ever really considered himself a cat person. But since Liho didn’t normally cough up his insides – Steve was banking on blind faith that tonight wasn’t sign that Liho had started his transition into real-life hellspawn – Steve had bustled the hissing cat into the emergency carrier, earning him a half dozen scratches and more bites than he liked out of the bedroom.

Now, armed with the full report from the vet, a benign diagnosis that Steve couldn’t remember because it was almost three in the fucking morning, he was on his way back home. Liho, three-quarters comatose from all the drugs, hadn’t kicked up any fuss so far.

At least Nat had left him several hundred dollars in emergency cash.

Steve didn’t ask where it came from, which was probably why she had left it in the first place.

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, leaning forward in his seat with his chin propped up on his fist. The train slowed to a stop and the mechanical two-tone ding sounded to signal the doors opening.

“Oh my god is that a cat?”

Steve jerked his eyes open just in time to see a long-haired man in a familiar leather jacket crouch down and reach for the cat carrier in his lap. “Hey!” Steve yelped on reflex as he yanked the carrier back a little further. The man nearly tripped backwards. He stood back up and ran a hand through his disturbed hair to smooth it back down as he peered down bemusedly at Steve.

“You!” Steve would recognize that face anywhere.

“Me?” Barnes asked, looking adorably confused. “You know me?”

Steve gaped at him, face flushing deeper as he frantically searched for any sort of explanation. “N-no?”

Barnes blinked. “You sure about that?” he asked as he reached up to grab at the overhead bar to steady himself.

He missed the first time.

“You okay?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised as Barnes grabbed the bar with both hands on his next try. He swallowed, tasting the sour tinge of alcohol in the air for the first time.

“I’m good,” Barnes told him, nodding a bit more forcefully than normal. “Just… a little drunk. No big. It’s been a long week.” He swung down to take a seat next to Steve.

“It’s Tuesday,” Steve said, eyebrows raised.

Barnes blinked at Steve, refocusing his gaze with a little effort. “So it is,” he said after a moment. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations on what?” Steve glanced down at Liho, like Barnes was congratulating him on not killing Nat’s cat.

“Graduating kindergarten,” Barnes said with a smirk. “Looks like you’ve got the days of the week down pat. Can you tell time too?”

Steve threw him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

Barnes chuckled. “No problem. I know what time it is – it's too fucking late.” He sighed. “At least I left before last call.”

Steve asked, “So you’re the one who deserves the congratulations, then?”

Barnes waved off Steve’s comment, nearly smacking him in the chin. “Sure do. Much better than Rumlow and Rollins – they’re probably still heckling the bartender right now.” He held up his wrist, squinting at his fancy watch face. He pursed his lips and let his hand fall back to his lap. “I hope the tip I left was big enough. Assholes.”

“Your friends were harassing the bartender?” Steve asked, a sour feeling curdling in his stomach.

Barnes’s silence was a good enough answer.

Steve looked away, nearly palpable disappointment falling over him. Which was stupid, since he didn’t know Barnes at all. There was no good reason for Steve to feel like Barnes was letting him down. He had just seen him give up his seat once – that wasn’t the good deed that divided good people and bad people.

“They’re my coworkers,” Barnes explained dejectedly. He sighed, running a hand down his face wearily. “And I’m already on thin ice with my boss anyway. One wrong word, and I’ll be out the door and on my ass. I hoped tonight – on a motherfucking Tuesday – would help my case. Don’t know how much I really did since I got on their case about the bartender.”

“Well at least you did that,” Steve said after along moment.

Barnes snuck a glance at Steve and slumped down further in his seat, defeated. “Fuck, I hate them so much.”

“They do sound like assholes,” Steve agreed. He couldn’t help the briefest flickers of sympathy as Barnes kept talking. Steve had been in his position before: at Shield, he had participated in some half-ethical, quasi-illegal projects before quitting. It was his first job out of college, and it had taken longer than he’d like to admit for Steve’s principles to overcome his revulsion for cheap pizza and instant ramen for dinner every week.

The train rumbled to a stop. Five stations left before Steve could collapse on Nat's couch.

“I should have stopped them,” Barnes continued, gazing out unseeing across the subway car. “She didn’t deserve any of their bullshit.”

Steve shifted slightly in his seat, and a started yowl came from the carrier. “Do they go there often?”

“Do they drink like fishes?”

Steve huffed, “Then next time you can suck it up for another round and apologize to her and set things right. If you’ve lasted this long tonight, I bet you can stomach another hour or two to make it up to her.”

Barnes squinted at him. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Barnes struggled to come up with an answer for that one as his gaze roved up and down Steve’s face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m drunk. It’s almost three in the fucking morning. You probably have work tomorrow.”

“I do,” Steve agreed.

“And what do you do – what’s your name?”

“Steve.”

“Oh,” Barnes said. He licked his lips. “I’m Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve said, testing the name on his tongue. It didn’t quite suit the polished image of Barnes he had in his head, the untouchably good-looking man wrapped up in a leather jacket and fabulous hair. But it worked for the man he was talking to tonight.

“Sorry for spilling my life’s story,” Bucky said as the train slowed to a stop once again. “It’s been a long week. And I’m drunk.”

“So you’ve said,” Steve intoned wryly. “It’s okay. Talking to you is much better than the cat, anyway.”

Bucky peered at the cat carrier again, ducking down to stare into the dark depths of Liho’s plastic lair. “Hi cat.”

“Don’t get too close. He’s an asshole.”

“Aw,” Bucky cooed as he ran a finger down the metal grating of the door.

Steve was almost about to yank Bucky’s hand back, before a small pink tongue poked tentatively out between the grate. Mouth agape, he turned to Barnes, an apparent cat-whisperer. Liho notoriously hated everyone except Natasha. Steve tried to bribe him with treats the first day. Liho threw up on the bed twice.

Bucky shrugged up at him. “The bar had a shit ton of salted peanuts for free. Easier to stuff my face than keep talking to those dicks.”

“I thought salt was supposed to repel demons,” Steve said flatly, still watching Liho lick Bucky’s fingers with perverted awe.

“He’s not a demon,” Bucky said reproachfully, eyes soft.

“You’re going to leave this subway car with one fewer finger if you keep playing with danger like that,” Steve said warily. “Are you a cat person?”

Bucky pulled a face. “They’re cute,” he said. “But from afar sometimes? Like, dogs are cute all the time.”

Steve grinned. “You’re a dog person, then.”

Bucky bit his lip. “But I don’t mind cat people!” he said quickly. He flushed lightly and ducked his head to offer Liho another finger.

“I’m a dog person too,” Steve said with a shrug. “Cats are too temperamental for me.”

“Do the dog and cat get along?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing as Liho retreated further back into the carrier with a low hiss.

“What dog?”

“Your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“But you’re a dog person.”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“So you’re a dog person who only has a cat?” Bucky demanded, looking at Steve like he was the drunk one sprouting nonsense out his ass. “You do know what a ‘dog-person’ is right?”

“I don’t have a cat.”

And now Bucky was looking at him like Steve was insane.

“I’m cat-sitting,” Steve explained after a beat. “Liho belongs to a friend, and she cashed in all the favors I owe her for this. Plus a hundred bucks.”

“Only a hundred?” Bucky frowned. “You’re getting scammed.”

Steve held back a derisive snort at the thought that he could turn down a hundred dollars. “Don't I know it. Have I said her cat is an asshole?”

“You might have mentioned it,” Bucky said, straightening up since it was clear that Liho wasn’t interested in any more peanut residue and salt.

The train slowed to a stop, and Bucky peered out the window behind them, nearly falling in his haste to stand. “This is me,” he said. He paused in front of the open doors. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Steve said, more than a little bemused at what he was being thanked for.

“The advice,” Bucky said as he stepped onto the platform, backwards so he could keep talking to Steve face-to-face. “And the cat. He’s still cute, even if he is a-”

The doors closed.

Bucky’s mouth shut, and he made a disgruntled face as the train started to move out of the station.

Steve shook his head, laughing, and waved as he pulled out of High Street Station.

* * *

Steve brought a book to distract him on his commute the next morning – an obscure Russian novel that Nat had left at his place a year ago. Steve had found it wedged at the bottom of his bookshelf, crammed neatly into a cranny between his large art books. If Steve had searched his apartment for an hour at eleven o’clock at night to find it, then nobody had to know but him.

It was probably a futile gesture – Steve harbored real doubts that Bucky would remember him. From the way he reeked of the bar, he was probably black out and nursing a killer hangover wherever he was. Moveover, based on the expensive clothing Steve had seen him wear, he was probably the type to grab a cab into the city instead of slumming it with the MTA when he was feeling “under the weather.”

Steve kept his gaze trained acutely on the text in front of him, biting his lip as he tried to immerse himself in an excruciatingly detailed description the Great Steppe.

He flipped a page angrily. If Nat read stories like this for fun, then she had no reason to judge Steve and his homebody-like tendencies. He went to the gym every day; he went to happy hour with coworkers once a month; and he even attended rallies and protests when the situation called. He wasn’t lonely – not like poor Zhilin stuck permanently in 1857 in the middle of nowhere with only his horse for company.

Sam couldn’t have been more off base. _Only crazy lonely people fixated on strangers on the subway for a human connection,_ Steve's ass.

Despite all his efforts to distract himself, Steve still couldn’t help the way his head raised to scan the incoming passengers as the conductor announced Bucky’s stop. As soon as he spotted the familiar profile, though, Steve ducked back behind his book, laser-focused on Zhilin’s current dilemma of where to sleep for the night.

He only looked back up as Bucky stepped closer to him, wearing his usual leather jacket, plus dark jeans and a pair of sunglasses. “Hi,” he said in a low voice. “I – I’m Bucky? I think we met on the A train last night?”

Steve gave him a brief once-over, as if he couldn’t pick Bucky out of a crowd in a nano-second. “Hi,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “You were pretty drunk. Not sure if you’d remember.”

Bucky grimaced. “Kind of wish I didn’t.”

Steve looked away, unsure if he was supposed to have heard that or not.

“Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Steve raised his head, frowning in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

“For bothering you?” Bucky paused, cheeks flaring a slight red. “If I’m sober, I swear I don’t normally accost people on the subway.”

“You didn’t accost me. And I didn’t mind talking to you last night.” Bucky didn’t immediately respond, so Steve aimed a pointed look at his sunglasses, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“How are you even – ?” Bucky started before giving his head a little shake. Ruefully, he said, “I’ve been better. If a screaming baby comes on this train, though, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Steve laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a hangover like that.”

“Not my proudest moment, I’ll give you that.”

“You clean up nice, considering,” Steve said, the words slipping out before he could rein them in.

Bucky’s mouth lifted into a wry grin, completely oblivious to Steve’s complete inability to play it cool. “Thanks,” Bucky said warmly. “Good to know – one less thing I have to worry about at work today.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m in Sales at a technology company,” he said, his mouth twisting with distaste.

Steve’s mouth fell open as Bucky’s words about his asshole colleagues ringing in his ears. “Not Stark Industries?” Steve didn’t work too closely with Sales, but he knew their VP, Clint Barton, pretty well from Tony’s monthly happy hour. He never acted like a huge jerk around Steve, at least.

“No, the Hydra Corporation,” Bucky said with raised eyebrows.

Steve frowned and shook his head, unfamiliar with the company.

“We specialize in medical technology,” Bucky added. “Not a direct competitor to SI except in their medical research division.”

The train arrived at Wall Street, and conversation halted as other commuters bustled in and out at first Manhattan stop on the line. A seat opened right in front of Steve, and he stood aside as an elderly man sat down, sweeping his tzitzit out of the way of the seat next to him.

A screech of metal on metal, and they were on their way to Fulton Street.

Bucky winced. “Christ,” he hissed, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Sometimes it feels like this city is out to get me, you know?”

“I think it’s just the MTA,” Steve disagreed with a wry grin. “And it’s pretty much out to get all of us.”

Bucky huffed some unintelligible words about the mass transit system under his breath.

The brakes shrieked for an interminable moment as they shuddered to a stop.

A vein in Bucky’s temple twitched.

Steve brightened. “Hey, I think I can help,” he said as he ducked down to rummage around in his bag, tucked securely between his feet. “Here!” He whipped out his spare protein bar.

Bucky stared.

“It’ll maybe help with your hangover?” Steve tried hopefully, doubt settling in the longer Bucky didn’t take it. “It’s high in protein and fat – oh shit, are you allergic? I think I have one without peanuts.”

“I don’t believe you,” Bucky said faintly after a beat too long. 

Steve bristled and made to stash it back in his bag. “You don’t have to take it. I just thought it could tide you over until your coffee or something.”

Instead, Bucky plucked the protein bar from Steve’s lax grip and tore the wrapper in half with his teeth. “You’re a fucking godsend, is what I mean.”

Steve pinked.

Bucky took a big bite, mumbling around his mouthful, “This is amazing. You’re amazing.”

Steve bypassed a rosy blush and went straight to lobster red, no thanks at all to his Irish complexion.

* * *

Over the next couple weeks, Steve learned a great deal about Bucky Barnes, Senior Sales Manager at Hydra Corporation. He was born in New York, moved to Indiana when he was eleven, and came back for college. His first name was really James. He was saving up money and vacation days for a two-week vacation to Moscow in the fall.

He may or may not be single – Steve hadn’t learned anything definite about that yet.

Nat told Steve to just ask if Bucky was taken, but that was because she had absolutely zero confidence in Steve’s ability to manage a delicate conversation. That just wasn’t the way Steve did things, and Nat knew him better than anyone.

When Steve committed, he couldn’t afford to hedge around or leave room for ambiguity. Steve was an all-in, ride-or-die type of man. That was why it took so long to get out of Shield, and why Nat basically trusted him with her life. And why she trusted him with her cat even though Steve knew fuck-all about cats.

“You’re being ridiculous, Steve,” Nat said patiently as she sucked on the straw of her iced coffee over lunch across the street from Stark Industries. For the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, it was surprisingly empty. “This isn’t rocket science – and thank god it isn’t, or you’d be going to Tony for help and we all know what a disaster that would be.”

“You don’t have a much better track record,” Steve said shrewdly.

“At least I never tried to poison someone on the first date,” Nat cackled.

“That I know about,” Steve added sardonically.

Nat’s grin turned sharp over the rim of her glass. “That you know about,” she agreed.

Steve set down his burger. “And Tony didn’t _poison_ Pepper. She’s just allergic to strawberries.”

“Which he should have known. She’d been his PA for years.” She took another sip of her coffee. “So what’s your new man allergic to?”

Steve spluttered, “He’s not my man.”

“That’s right, he could be screwing half of New York and you wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Don’t be crass.”

Nat batted her eyelashes at him and simpered, “That’s cute. You’re all offended on his behalf already?”

“If he wants to sleep around, I’m not going to judge,” Steve said stiffly. “That’s his business.”

“But you want a piece, am I right?”

Steve groaned. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Because Sam and Riley are too busy with their little birdie to deal with your middle school angst fest?” Nat asked with raised eyebrows. “And if Sam got wind about how bad your crush really is, he’d rip you a new one five times more painful than I would for not getting your act together.”

“This seems pretty painful already,” Steve said, mouth twisting as he let a limp French fry drop back to his plate.

“We both want what’s best for you Steve. I just don’t mind having a little fun in the meantime.” Nat propped her elbow on the table to gesture forcefully with her fork as she told him seriously, “Normally you go after what you want, damn all who get in your way.”

Steve ducks his head, staring at his mostly-empty plate. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” Nat said with a shake of her head. “Ask him if he’s single. That’s it. He’ll probably even fill in the blanks for you and ask you out, since it seems like he’s got more then two brain cells to rub together.” She paused for dramatic effect before adding in a complete deadpan, “unlike my current lunch date.”

Steve shoved the rest of his burger in his mouth.

“Steve.”

“Nat.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen? He could say no. That’s literally it. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

Steve swallowed. “No, I guess not.”

“So why are you acting like a blushing virgin in front of a seedy motel on prom night?” Nat demanded. “You’re one of the most attractive people I know – and I look in the mirror every morning. You’re funny. You’re nice. He’d be crazy to turn you down.”

Steve sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date. College, I think? Junior year, maybe.”

“So?”

Steve swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?” he asked in a small voice.

“What if you’re bad at it,” Nat echoed, her voice flat with disbelief. “Seriously? That’s your hang up? People have bad dates all the time! One bad date doesn’t make or break a relationship, Steve, and if it does, then he’s not worth keeping around anyway. You didn’t like me the first five times we met. And look at us now.”

Steve conceded her point with a dip of his head.

Nat beamed at him and raised her hand to flag down their waitress for the bill.

* * *

Emboldened by Natasha's advice, the next day Steve boarded the train with a spring in his step. He left the boring Russian book at home. Leg bouncing nervously up and down, Steve only realized what he was doing as he caught some of the annoyed glances from the commuters sitting next to him.

Slowly, too slowly, the train pulled into Clark Street Station with a whine of the brakes. A couple people trickled onto the train, but nobody Steve recognized. He scanned the faces again. He checked his watch to confirm that he had boarded the same train he always did.

As the train pulled away, Steve twisted around in his seat to look out the window, half-expecting, half-hoping to see Bucky running down the platform.

Bucky never appeared.

The train descended further beneath the East River. With a heavy heart, Steve slumped back down in his seat. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone else for the rest of the commute.

Bucky didn’t take their train the next day.

Or the day after that.

By his third solo morning train ride, Steve didn’t even look out the window for Bucky as Clark Street came and went. If he wanted to see Steve, then Steve was exactly where he always was: quietly suffering along with a thousand other New Yorkers in the goddamn subway.

The next day, a signal problem at 96th Street, sent a cascade of delays along the 2/3 lines.

Steve, though, couldn’t help the slight relief that pounded with every step towards the 4/5 platform, a flight of stairs below where he usually waited. The station was bursting with people, other grumbling commuters forced to make contingency plans. It was easy to let the communal anger and frustration at the MTA’s many failings swallow him as he made his way through a whole new throng of tourists at Grand Central, a full four blocks farther from Stark Industries than 42nd Street.

He was snappier than usual the whole rest of the day. Steve blamed his horrendous commute when Tony called him out on it.

* * *

After a full week of no Bucky, Steve finally gave in to his baser urges and looked him up online. He searched Bucky Barnes, and then James Barnes. He found nothing. Bucky might has well have been a ghost. In a desperate attempt to prove that Bucky wasn’t some hyper-realistic hallucination borne of too much time alone, Steve looked up the Hydra Corporation’s website. Their About Us page had no pictures.

At least they existed, Steve told himself as he shut his laptop and slipped it into his bag.

On the subway, Steve fiddled on his phone for the first couple stops, catching up on the news and any emails that had come in overnight. Apart from a high-alert emergency meeting notice from Tony – which could mean anything from DUM-E needing a new paint job to aliens invading Stark Industries – nothing stood out. His train arrived at Borough Hall, and Steve let his eyes slip shut. The car was too noisy and shook too much for real sleep, but Steve could manage a half-decent doze if he tried. He didn’t even watch the next round of people step onto the train at Clark Street.

“Steve?”

Steve squinted at the sound of his name, and his eyes snapped open as he took in the once-familiar shape of Bucky Barnes looming over him, one hand clutching the horizontal bar overhead. He let out a startled, “Bucky?”

“Hi,” Bucky said, straightening up a little so he wasn’t bent down quite so far into Steve’s personal space. “Yeah, it’s me.”

In a poor attempt to regain his composure, Steve crossed his arms across his chest and huffed, “I know it is.” When Bucky didn’t immediately prostrate himself with explanations for his absence, Steve asked begrudgingly, “How’ve you been?”

“Been better,” Bucky muttered after a long pause, not meeting Steve’s gaze. “I – uh – got fired last week."

Steve blinked, a crushing wave of realization falling over him, followed by shame. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “That’s fucking awful.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve said as he looked around. He slid a little further down the bench and pushed his knees further together. He gestured to the newly freed space next to him. “Want to sit? Where are you heading?”

“Uh, Penn Station.” Bucky took the proffered seat. “I’m picking up my sister. Of course she had to pick this fucking week to visit.”

Steve smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be nice having her around though, right? Keep you busy for a bit?"

“Sure,” Bucky said moodily. “But god forbid she sees me moping at all or she'll rat me out to Mom. And then I’ll have the whole Barnes hoard descend on my studio apartment.”

“Are you the type to mope?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised. “I mean, getting fired sucks. But from what you’ve told me, you hated your job. I thought it would be a little bit of a relief never seeing some of your coworkers again.”

“That’s the one bright side,” he said with a sigh. “But they were an at-will employer and they basically said they weren’t going to give me a recommendation or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, eyes narrowing. “Why’s that?”

“Because they’re dicks?” Bucky said, exasperatedly throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve worked for them for five fucking years. I went from intern to Senior Sales Manager – the youngest one they had. I worked holidays, weekends, you name it. I don’t know what else the wanted from me.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bucky hissed, evidently on a roll. “I ask for one fucking raise – a raise on par with industry standards, I’ll have you know. And, I mean, it wasn’t a small one. But apparently I was working for goddamn pennies! And then they fire me the next day - who does that?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it again, and then just shook his head, completely lost for words.

Bucky glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye and seemed to sag in his seat. “Sorry for blowing up at you,” he muttered. “Like I said. Hasn’t been my best week.”

“They fired you because you asked for a raise?”

“Mostly – maybe, I, ah,” Bucky stuttered, “kind of lost a big client last week. That might have contributed to it.”

Steve frowned. “Might have?” he echoed, eyebrows raised.

Bucky let out a deep sigh. “But they had to have known that we couldn’t keep them,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I was the one to point out that the Hydra’s higher-ups made unrealistic promises about what we could do.” He turned to Steve and let out a disgusted noise. “The client was working on cancer research and gamma radiation. Who fucks over cancer patients?”

Steve scoffed, “Nobody with a conscience.”

“That’s right,” Bucky agreed with relish. “I spun our story the best I could without blatantly lying, and they made the best decision to keep Hydra for some of their business and contract out the rest,” he paused, surveying Steve thoughtfully, before adding, “to SI, I think. Hey, if you could put in a good word for the Banner Institute, that’d be great. They’re helping a lot of people.”

“Of course,” Steve assured, his words mostly lost as they pulled into 14th Street Station and a chattering group of tourists parked themselves right in the middle of the car. He glanced over at Bucky, brows drawing together. “Are you looking for another job already?”

Bucky threw him an incredulous look. “My apartment’s not going to pay for itself. And not everyone can rock the eccentric homeless look, no matter what the hipsters tell you.”

“Right,” Steve said, flushing deeply for asking such a stupid question. “Look, I have a meeting with Tony as soon as I get in the office, but can you email me your resume? I’ll try to get it past HR at SI if you’re interested.”

Bucky gaped at him. “Tony?” he repeated in a strangled voice. _“As in Tony Stark?_ You have meetings with that Tony?”

Steve smiled sheepishly. “It’s really not all that big a deal. I mean, last week he set himself on fire when he was in R&D. Twice.”

Bucky just shook his head, disbelief radiating off him in almost palpable waves. “And you’ll pass on my resume? Just like that?”

“Why not?” Steve said with a shrug. “I’d let you think it over, but I don’t think you want to wait.”

“Steve, I can’t ask –”

“You’re not asking,” Steve said firmly. “I’m offering. It’s different.”

“I can’t,” Bucky began, swallowing as he glanced around nervously. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to work-”

“Do you have a violent criminal history? Are you secretly a Nazi?” Steve asked with a smile.

“Definitely not,” Bucky said with a small smile as he reached inside his shirt to pull out a thin silver chain with an elegant Star of David hanging from the center. “But you don’t know me. And I don’t want to get you in trouble with Tony fucking Stark for recommending some guy you met on the train –”

“You said you’re a hard worker,” Steve interrupted. “And you seem like a team player, even if your team is full of assholes. Tony likes that. And I’m not giving you a job, anyway. I’m in Advertising and Design – I don’t have that kind of pull, no matter what kind of impression I gave you. At most, I can guarantee an interview.”

Bucky blinked, a little slack-jawed. “Thank you,” he said fervently as he pulled Steve into a hug, to his complete surprise. “I never expected – thank you so much.”

Steve grinned as he pulled away, already missing the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and the sturdy warmth of his arms. “I’m glad I could help.”

Bucky ducked his head. “You’re more than helping.”

“Not a job,” Steve reminded him.

Bucky sat back in his seat like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, his eyes skittering away from Steve’s curious gaze.

“What?” Steve asked after a beat. “If you need more time – I don’t have to say anything to Tony yet, or at all.”

“No, no it’s not that,” Bucky said quietly, raising a hand to placate. He licked his lips and inhaled a deep breath as he looked Steve full in the face. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner with me sometime.”

“You’re asking me out?” Steve asked, his heart beating-double time in his chest. He swallowed, and it felt like white hot energy coursed through the left side of his body where he was sitting flush with Bucky.

Bucky nodded with a small noise of assent. 

Steve hesitated, uneasiness niggling at him as he asked, “Are you asking because I can network for you at Stark Industries?”

“What? No! Of course not,” Bucky said hurriedly. “I – ah – got the train this morning to ask you out. I mean, my sister’s train does get in today, but not for two hours. And since I don’t have to go into Manhattan every day anymore, I didn’t know how else to contact you since I don’t have your number. So I took your usual train in to find you – I swear, it sounded less creepy in my head. I didn't mean -”

Feeling lighter than he had in years, Steve gently placed his hand on Bucky’s thigh to get him to shut up. “I’d really like to go out with you sometime,” he said sincerely.

“Thank god.” Bucky dug in his pocket and bashfully offered his phone. “Can I get your number?”

Steve took it with a wide grin. He had just put in his last digit when the conductor announced, “Times Square-42nd Street. Transfer is available to the N, Q, R, W, and 7 and 1 trains. Free shuttle to Grand Central…”

Steve jumped up from his seat. “Sorry!” he said in a rush as he swung his bag over his shoulder and turned around. “This is me.” Without over-thinking it, he bent down and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “Text me your number, please? And resume!”

Bucky glanced around, mouth falling open in surprise. “Shit, I missed Penn Station.”

“Come with me,” Steve said impulsively as he backed out of the car, to the supreme annoyance of everyone trying to get in. “Your sister doesn’t get in for hours, right?”

Bucky shook his head.

“I have to meet Tony first thing, but we can get coffee after, if you like? I can make up the work later – it’s no big deal. And I’d like to get to have a conversation that lasts longer than the trip from Clark to Times Square.”

Bucky grinned as he joined Steve on the platform. “I’d like that too.”

“Come on.” Steve offered his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

And together, they made their way out of the station, through the crowds, and up to the street level.

**Author's Note:**

> The New York City subway system has the most public transit subway stations of any system in the world. From the original 28 stations built in Manhattan that opened on October 27, 1904, the subway system has grown to 472 stations, most of which were built by 1940. Their design represents three distinct styles of the two private companies – the Interborough Rapid Transit Company (IRT) and the Brooklyn-Manhattan Transit Corporation (BMT) – and the city-owned Independent Rapid Transit Railroad (IND), that built them.
> 
> Times Square-42nd Street is the busiest subway station, with 64.5 million people passing through in 2016.
> 
> The longest possible subway ride is from the 2 train from 241st Street in the Bronx, with a transfer to the Far Rockaway-bound A Train (more than 38 miles).


End file.
